When smoke stood up from Ludlow

The blackbird in the coppice

Looked out to see me stride,

And hearkened as I whistled

The trampling team beside,

And fluted and replied:

'Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;

What use to rise and rise?

Rise man a thousand mornings

Yet down at last he lies,

And then the man is wise.'

I heard the tune he sang me,

And spied his yellow bill;

I picked a stone and aimed it

And threw it with a will:

Then the bird was still.

Then my soul within me

Took up the blackbird's strain,

And still beside the horses

Along the dewy lane

It sang the song again:

'Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;

The sun moves always west;

The road one treads to labour

Will lead one home to rest,

And that will be the best.'